


Do You Still Trust Me?

by avid75



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: (albeit a long-ish drabble?), Drabble, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 02, Shameless Smut, the show's probably not gonna go there so here you go enjoy!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 07:25:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4295862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avid75/pseuds/avid75
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elektra Natchios will succeed in her mission tomorrow, but tonight she fails to resist her first love, and is completely unaware of his own dark secret. This is what happens when you throw a match on a still-smoldering old flame…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You Still Trust Me?

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this almost immediately after the Elektra easter egg landed in Episode 10. Now that she's been cast for Season 2, seemed like a decent time to post it here. I fleshed it out a little bit (pardon the semi-pun) as well, but it works best as a drabble I think. Enjoy. ;)

She’d forgotten what sex with Matt Murdock was like.

As a memory, and a formative one at that, she’d always considered it unforgettable. But it turned out the details had grown less tangible over time. Her emotions ran deeper than the immediacy of her senses. As intense a memory as riding him in her dorm room at Columbia was once — especially that warm, late spring afternoon when her roommate was away. The feverish tangle of their bodies, the playful moments in between when they’d talk out their feelings, talk shit about classmates and professors and giggle in between fucking each other senseless for hours. The stronger memory since had always been that long, horrible ride to the airport. Where a part of her felt like she should be angrier with herself for crying about something other than her father’s murder. But she didn’t care. The upset had already begun to metamorphose into rage. She’d never let anyone else see her cry, anyway, so who’d know the difference?

The moment she saw Matt tonight — across a crowded penthouse patio as a dim, orange dusk cast a sensual, warm light across the Hudson onto the rooftops of Hell's Kitchen — it all began to flood back. The way he used to move inside her, so concentrated... what college boy took his time like that? The way he _tasted_....

Jesus, he looked good; he cut exactly the handsome, honorable figure she’d imagined he’d be one day. Matthew Michael Murdock, the people's advocate. She watched him take a sip of scotch, smile at the newly elected congressman representing all fine and upstanding denizens of the Kitchen (and some of the less upstanding ones, too.) She tried to remain in the here and now, but every time he grinned she instantly remembered feeling his smug, satisfied grin against her inner thigh the first time he made her come. 

_Pull. It. Together._ It was dangerous for her to be here in the first place; she came back to New York with a mission, one she was perfectly capable of carrying out without putting on the additional pretense of making an appearance in Hell’s Kitchen, in a social circle that just happened to contain the one man she’d never stopped caring about. But by hiding in plain sight, in this instance, honestly it helped her blend in. _And there he was…_

Then he stopped smiling. And his head tilted ever so slightly in her direction. He seemed to take a deep breath, and suddenly he turned. If she didn’t know any better, she’d have sworn he was looking right at her.

*********

“You smelled me, didn’t you?” she asked, three hours later in his loft apartment. Virtually no decor at all; unbelievably soft, worn leather on his sofa though. It was so him. Perched on the back of said sofa, her high heels off... legs coiled around his waist as she yanked off his tie and got to work on his shirt buttons. He’d already unzipped her dress, one warm, strong hand reacquainting itself with every curve of her body; his other hand cupped her face. Feathering his thumb across her cheek, and then her bottom lip. Tantalizingly slow.

“That perfume is new. It’s incredible,” he sighed, licking into her mouth as his hand moved down and gently eased one strap of her dress from her shoulder. The crimson chiffon fell away, and immediately her nipple stiffened in the cool air. “But underneath…” he continued, “…it’s all you.” The timbre of his voice had become so thrillingly low, or maybe it was just shot through with lust; every hair on the nape of her neck stood on end. He dipped her back just enough to nip at her breast, suckling gently as she fisted a handful of his crisp, lilac silk shirt and moaned, long and loud.

She was proud of how well she’d played along back at the party - maintaining her cover (if you could call it that when she was telling everyone her real name), managing the situation when Foggy recognized her and momentarily made Matt’s life awkward as hell. (He hadn’t changed one bit. Slightly less shaggy, though.) She kept the banter going after they got over the initial shock of reunion, but that part had always been effortless between them. She was also proud of how quickly they’d found an opportunity to leave after the second drink. But she was the most proud of how fast they made it from the sofa to his bed, and out of the rest of their clothes. She gave herself a few beats to rake her eyes over that amazing body again, but the wait had been long enough already.

“Wait, before we do this," he interrupted, "you sure you don’t want to get that cup of coffee and catch up first?” Smart-ass. _That_ hadn’t changed either. She pushed him to the bed, straddling and pinning him in one swift movement; those luscious lips fell open, his mouth agape (Was he shocked? He _might_ be a little shocked…). Raking both hands down the sleek, muscled planes of his bare chest, she ground the heat at her center toward that beautiful (and beautifully hard) cock.

“Overruled,” she purred.

Matt had never really talked about it, but she was aware that in the absence of sight, his other four senses were... acute. She’d had to train herself mercilessly for years to hone her own instincts and reflexes, but he had an odd sort of gift about him. Back in the days where he knew _exactly_ where to find her in class even if she sat in a different seat every time. She always figured he could smell her, or pick up the sound of her voice from a long distance. But there was no doubt when they made love, it just wasn’t like anyone she’d ever been with. Most men, even ones who are great lovers, inevitably have a moment where they are pre-occupied looking at you - at the way your breasts bounce, or the way your lips look latched onto their cock. Leaning forward or back so they can watch themselves penetrate you… and they're no longer with you in the moment.

He was _always_ right there with her. She’d never been bothered by the fact that Matt couldn’t see her, because when they were together he engaged every other sense in a way that was so focused on pleasuring her even as he derived pleasure _from_ her, that so overwhelmed her it was almost embarrassing. She liked to be in control, which is why she always started on top; with most of the lovers in her life, she’d liked to finish that way too. It was different with Matt; after awhile, as his concentrated, restless hands caressed every inch of her, as he deeply inhaled her skin and her musk, kissed and licked her in places other men wouldn’t dare, that moment where she surrendered control was just as sweet. And if Matt Murdock in college was an exceptionally good lay, well… Matt Murdock in his thirties was a whole other level. 

“Oh my god,” she cried, flushed as she went limp and he flipped her onto her back. Sightless though they may be, those big brown eyes were still utterly gorgeous; she used to like to describe them to him in florid language until he blushed. He kept them open as he drew her into a deep, breathless kiss, thumbing the slickness of her folds and flicking her clitoris several times before he reared back and plunged his cock into her again; it felt so fucking good, she shuddered and came again instantly. Waves and waves of bliss that lingered as he pounded away, nibbling at her collarbone, stroking her calf as he lifted her leg to gain more purchase. She slid further down the mattress and arched her back at a sharp angle, locking her ankles and urging him onward. Raking her short red nails across that taut, perfect ass.

“Do you still trust me?” she whispered against his cheek.

“Always,” he panted.

She bit down, hard on his shoulder, and before he could cry out, she spread his cheeks and used one fingernail to gently, teasingly score the rim of his asshole. That was it; she tore an orgasm out of him that she’d confidently wager was the hardest he’d come in quite some time. His deep, pleasured groan tapered off as she stroked his back; he tried to raise himself up on one elbow and crumpled.

“Jesus Christ, Elektra," he sighed. " _Fuck._ ”

She gasped, tittering against his lips with soft kisses in between. “That’s ten Hail Marys, Matthew.” He laughed and rolled onto his side, drawing her to his chest. She caressed his belly and for a long time, they just breathed. He had scars here and there, most of which didn't raise any alarm but there was one on his abdomen now... long and puckered and angry. She wondered how the hell that had happened, if he’d been mugged or attacked, and immediately she wanted to gut whoever was responsible. With her head against his chest, she closed her eyes and listened to his heartbeat. Wondering if he could hear hers (no doubt) and if it was as intense and thrilling as she perceived (probably ten times moreso.)

Tomorrow, she’d have to slip out before he woke up. She had to keep her focus. But once the target was eliminated, she’d have to figure out if it was worth the risk to try and see him again, and if he’d start to suspect. The last one seemed fairly likely, he _was_ Matt after all.

Was it worth it?

Could he really trust her?

She refused to think about it now. This moment… this night was theirs.

###


End file.
